


Guns and (no) Roses

by inlightofvisa



Series: The McCall-Hale Diaries [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Established Relationship, I feel like that combination shouldn't be possible, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Relationship Negotiation, Sexiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:40:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlightofvisa/pseuds/inlightofvisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek wanted to tell the Sheriff about his relationship with Stiles, he really did. Just not like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guns and (no) Roses

**Author's Note:**

> http://indecentdrawer.tumblr.com/post/31603537718/stiles-answer-the-question  
> http://indecentdrawer.tumblr.com/post/32183142449/guns-kill-people-you-know
> 
> Yes, I'm condensing please don't hate me okay. I had a really long week and this is effort and yeah.
> 
> You've just experienced some fine whine and dining with me. I love you all too. *mwah*

Stiles has been meaning to tell his dad about his relationship with Derek for a couple months. And by that, he’s been badgering Derek to man up and ask the Sheriff for his blessing.

“It’s not like he’s a feral man-eating beast or anything, _God_ ,” Stiles breathes, sitting on Derek’s lap, cheek on Derek’s shoulder.

“He’s your _father_ ,” Derek says, running his hand over Stiles’ hair. “It’s ridiculously nerve-wracking.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Stiles drawls, walking his fingers over Derek’s chest and down towards his fly. “I mean, my dad is pretty nice and stuff.”

“Then you do it,” Derek growls, batting Stiles’ hand away from his crotch.

“I’m not asking him for permission to date you! Are you kidding me?!” Stiles asks incredulously, looking up at Derek. “But see, you’ve got a beautiful face and a gorgeous body—”

“That’s not a negotiating point with your father,” Derek interjects, rolling his eyes.

“—and really, who could say no to all of that sexy?” Stiles finishes, licking Derek’s neck. Derek whimpers, rolling his hips upwards helplessly. Stiles smirks. “How about we have some happy fun times here, and then you go ask?”

Derek swears he’s going to say no, it’s really on the tip of the tongue (it is, dammit!) but he breathes out a wrecked “yes” and really? He’s not that pathetic. He didn’t used to be that pathetic. Stiles laughs and wraps his legs around Derek’s waist, kissing him. Derek responds in kind and they’re halfway down to the bed when Stiles’ door suddenly opens.

“Stiles, have you seen my…” the Sheriff starts to say, but the rest of his question is cut off by the door snapping quickly shut. Derek lands on top of Stiles with an ungraceful “oof.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles breathes, draping his hands over his face. “Oh my God.”

“Is he going to kill me?” Derek asks, and for the first time in _ever_ (aside from the time that he got duck poop on his beautiful leather jacket), he sounds scared. “Does he have his gun at home? Seriously, Stiles, this is _important_.”

“Oh my God he was supposed to be out working tonight I thought he was working oh my God,” Stiles breathes, burying his face in Derek’s shoulder. “OhmygodohmygodohmygodIamsosorry.”

“You’re gonna be more sorry when I’m dead from a _gunshot wound_ ,” Derek hisses, rolling off of Stiles and onto the bed next to him. “Should I just leave out the window?”

Stiles fixes Derek with a withering look.

“As lucrative as that sounds, I feel like that would foster even _more_ distrust in my father who owns a gun,” he says flatly. He taps Derek’s temples. “Is there anything going on here?”

Derek swats Stiles’ hand away again.

“I’m serious. It’s either I leave by the window or I get _shot dead_ by your father _who owns a gun_.”

Stiles looks at the ceiling as if it could answer all his problems.

“No, there is no god of ceilings and he wouldn’t do much to help you anyway,” Derek mutters, sitting upright on Stiles’ bed. Stiles just laughs. Hysterically.

“Okay, you need to leave through the front door, because otherwise Dad is going to _shoot you dead_ next time you come over. Or even try to come over. Or maybe even at your house.”

Derek blanches.

“Okay, okay. Fine.”

He walks to the door before turning to look at Stiles.

“No moral support?” he snorts. Stiles rolls his eyes before getting up.

“Since when have _you_ , the confident, oh-so-sexy Derek McCall-Hale, needed _moral support_?”

“Since I started dating the most obnoxious, chatty piece of jailbait in town,” Derek deadpans, kissing Stiles.

“You don’t have to be so _mean_ ,” Stiles protests before opening his door. “I think he’s gone.”

“You’re sure he doesn’t have a gun at home?” Derek asks, peering around his only protection against bullets.

“I never said that,” Stiles replies before stepping away from the doorjamb. Derek moves slowly towards the doorway.

“Send me off to the door at least?” he asks, voice skipping a bit. Stiles pecks him on the cheek.

“One of us needs to be alive as a witness,” he says lightly against Derek’s face. “Try not to die.”

“What?” Derek asks.

“Well isn’t that just sweet,” the Sheriff says, looking amusedly at the boys.

“Ohmygod,” Derek shouts (because it was a _manly_ shout okay) as he clutches Stiles.

“Don’t shoot!” Stiles shrieks.

“Are you serious?” the Sheriff asks, a smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. “You’re serious.”

Derek still has the deer-in-the-headlights face on and Stiles just looks like he’s going to fall over. The Sheriff laughs a bit.

“I’m not going to shoot you, Derek,” he says good-naturedly, before taking Derek by the arm and walking him downstairs. “We just need to have a bit of a talk.”

“I think I’d prefer the bullet, sir,” Derek says, swallowing. He looks back at Stiles.

“No, you _don’t_ want the bullet because then you would be killed. To death,” Stiles says flatly. “Now go, you’ll be fine, you’ve got a pretty face and a fine, fine body and—”

“Oh, don’t think you’re avoiding this either, son,” his dad says, beckoning Stiles with his finger. “We’re talking too.”

“How is this my _life_ ,” Stiles whines as he follows his boyfriend and his father downstairs. 


End file.
